American Spirit

by Taya Kyle

  The people in our lives who are important are not the ones we see on television or even the ones who have books written about them. They’re the people who are there every day, making a difference in small but meaningful ways.

  I’m grateful that Brian was able to take that horrible experience he had as a child and turn it into something very positive for others.

  He’s not alone. I sometimes think the world would be a much calmer place if every parent dealing with a problem his or her child is having remembers that things can turn out for the best. Would we be less anxious parents knowing our children have the potential to grow as Brian Blackwell did?

  I think so.

  I met Brian at a time when I was hearing from a lot of other parents that they were anxious about their kids entering middle school. They worried about things like not making a sports team, establishing new friendships, or experiencing the heartache that is adolescence. But when I saw what Brian did with his heartache, I realize the incredible power that can come from suffering if it is channeled in a positive direction.

  Maybe that’s a reason not to be afraid in life—good can come out of anything. God can bring light through darkness.

  Schools should be training grounds, shaping our kids to be stronger emotionally as well as intellectually, with character and responsible attitudes toward freedom. With people like Brian running those schools, our future will be secure in the hands of leaders who have overcome hurdles and difficulties, small and large. One small hurt—and even the large ones—can turn into a lifetime of achievement, if the conditions are right.

  Flipping the Pig

  Amanda Kloo

  Her goal was to walk barefoot in the sand with her twin boys.

  It doesn’t sound like much, but for Amanda Kloo, it might as well have been walking on the moon, for Amanda had been born with cerebral palsy and walked with the aid of a cane. She was perhaps a hundred pounds overweight; sports and strenuous physical activity of any kind were foreign to the thirty-something recent mom.

  Which is not to say that Amanda was unaccomplished. On the contrary, she was an excellent teacher, skilled in working with children who had disabilities. Beyond that, she had a PhD and excelled in teaching other teachers how to teach. No one could say that she had not contributed greatly to society or that she was not an example to others.

  But she wanted to do more. After the birth of her twins—born without her ailment—she felt pangs whenever they played. More than anything, this mom wanted to play and keep up with them as they moved through toddlerhood into the typical run-and-tumble years of early childhood.

  Never underestimate the power of motherhood or the determination of a mother motivated by the love of her kids.

  And so, one day she ventured into a gym not far from the college where she worked and changed her life.

  Eventually, she would change others’ as well.

  Cerebral palsy—known colloquially as CP—is the general term used to describe a number of related or similar disorders that affect movement. They involve the brain, specifically the cerebrum (which is where “cerebral” comes in) and its ability to govern movement. The condition effectively paralyzes movement, affecting everything from posture to strength (where “palsy” comes in).

  While the condition probably has existed before recorded history, it wasn’t until the 1830s that it began to be studied in a scientific way. William John Little, a British surgeon and a victim of childhood polio, is credited with the first important discoveries and study, naming the condition spastic diplegia. Little’s work covered a range of conditions, including muscular dystrophy.

  Little advocated early intervention and therapy to improve motor skills, an approach that today is standard. Among the important distinctions between Little’s early theories and what we now know is that he believed the problems developed after birth. Today it is recognized that the problems generally have to do with the brain’s development beforehand, although about 10 percent of the cases are estimated to be due to birth injuries. Prenatal care and monitoring can reduce the risks of CP, though they can’t completely eliminate it.

  Symptoms generally relate to muscle coordination and movement. In many cases, parents first notice that their baby is missing milestones—failing, say, to grasp objects or sit up. Diagnosing the problem at an early age can be daunting, since every child develops at his or her own pace. Early intervention, though, which usually involves physical therapy to develop muscles and motor skills, can help a child greatly.

  One thing that’s important to note: CP does not generally bring mental disabilities or make a child unintelligent. Nor does it lower life expectancy in the absence of other factors.

  In Amanda’s case, the disorder primarily affected the left side of her body. She needed to walk with assistance support—leg braces, a cane. She was clever and resourceful, planning ahead when she went somewhere. If she and her husband were going on vacation and wanted to stay in a hotel, she tried to reserve a room on the main floor so there would be no stairs to descend in an emergency. Such are the subtle concessions one makes to the conditions that constrain our lives and freedom.

  As a result of some of these compromises and her sedentary lifestyle, Amanda gained considerable weight; she weighed some 230 pounds at the time her twins were born. Given that she stood about five foot three, that was grossly overweight. More alarming, she was often in pain, even when not exerting herself. Between the cerebral palsy and her weight, her body was under siege.

  In 2013, she decided to do something about it and found that gym.

  Now, in truth, she was secretly hoping to hear something along the lines of:

  No, sorry. Can’t help you. You’re beyond any assistance. There’s just nothing that can be done. You have CP; you’re overweight. Ain’t gonna happen.

  But the exact opposite happened. Amanda met Ken Crowder, the gym’s head of member education and experience. He sat on the floor with her and talked about exercise and living philosophies, how she might fit into those philosophies and work on her body, and what a possible first goal might be.

  They came up with wiggling her toes.

  You take it for granted. So do I. But it was something Amanda had never been able to do.

  Just by chance, the gym that Amanda had gone to on the advice of a colleague was CrossFit 77, part of the CrossFit network. This international network of gyms, founded by Greg Glassman, is based on ideas somewhat different from traditional exercise facilities and their cardio and strength-building machines. Their program revolves around the idea that fitness means increased functional ability and is not limited to, say, how much iron you can pump or how fast you can run a mile.

  To greatly simplify their philosophy and practices, exercise at a CrossFit facility involves a wide range of activities, from classic weight lifting and rowing, for example, to pushing weighted sleds around a yard. A high level of intensity—and community—are involved. Where in a traditional gym clients will generally work on their own or perhaps with a dedicated trainer, the typical CrossFit member is considered part of a team or family. It’s a “we’re all in this together to succeed” mentality rather than “I do my thing and go home” head. CrossFit also uses a large number of analytics or measurements of time, speed, weight, etc. to track performance. These are built into the program, as opposed to being something an individual at another gym may or may not track on their own.

  Functional exercise—the heart of CrossFit—is very similar to many of the techniques teachers working with disabled children use. The more Amanda listened to Ken and his staff, the more she felt the ideas not only made sense but meshed with what she already knew.

  But it’s one thing to agree on a philosophy and another to live it. So when Crowder told her, “See you tomorrow,” her reply was, “Oh, crap.”

  She kept the words to herself.

  It took three weeks before she could walk barefoot on an unstable surface—something most people take for granted, but som
ething Amanda had never done. Standing, sitting—she moved on, strengthening her core muscles, toning her arms, legs, work, work, work. . . .

  My kids have inspired me to heal more than anything else in the world. My drive to give them the lives Chris and I wanted has spurred me on even when I would have otherwise given up. As Amanda shows, this drive is a powerful force of nature.

  Roughly six months after starting, Amanda was able to reach her first milestone: taking her boys to the beach.

  She didn’t stop there.

  Her workouts continued. She learned what a burpee was. She learned to jump.

  High-intensity exercise—working at a very strong pace and with maximum effort—pushed her beyond what she thought her limits were. She lost weight—a lot of it.

  She bought new pants—many times.

  Finally, after months of work, she played ball with her kids.

  No achievement could be better than that.

  But there were more. In 2015, Amanda progressed so far that she took part in a national CrossFit competition at the Working Wounded Games. In truth, she was overwhelmed at the meet. Many of the unconventional events baffled her at first—how do you move a forty-five-pound “Atlas rock” from one point to another without dropping it on your toe?

  And when you do that, how do you move a ninety-pounder?

  Or flip over a pig (actually a weighted box)?

  Easy?

  Not if it weighs five hundred pounds. I know I couldn’t do it without help.

  Her appetite whetted not only by the competition but by the camaraderie she found at the meet, Amanda returned. In 2017, this mom who once couldn’t even wiggle her toes took first place in her division.

  Her cane? Gathering dust in a closet somewhere. It’s been quite a while since she needed it to get around.

  As remarkable as Amanda’s physical achievements are, they’re not the real story here. What’s truly remarkable is her decision to help others the way she was helped with something she calls Project Momentum.

  Unlike some of the other organizations we’re profiling, Project Momentum is not an organized charity—not yet, anyway. (Amanda is working on the process, which involves considerable paperwork and organization.) The project is basically her, with help from her husband, friends, colleagues, and like-minded individuals at gyms and organizations around the area of Charlotte, North Carolina, where she teaches at Belmont Abbey College.

  Her checkbook helps out as well. She’s funded a lot of the project herself, along with generous in-kind donations from local gyms.

  “It’s my attempt to pay back the blessing I’ve had,” says Amanda. “To pay back what Crowder and 77 offered me.”

  Many people with disabilities or other difficulties are reluctant to exercise. They’re afraid of being made fun of, afraid of failure.

  They’re also fearful that their disability means there is no hope for them to live an active life. They may have gone through therapy to assist with coping with the basics, but that’s as far as they feel they can go.

  Just like Amanda, they think they’re beyond help.

  “In a world where you’re used to being told no,” she says, “we try to say yes.”

  Her nascent organization functions as a conduit for people with disabilities, connecting them to gyms or other facilities depending on their needs. In a typical case, someone with CP might want to see what exercise can do for them, but not know where to start. After contacting Project Momentum either through a referral or the organization’s website, they meet with a counselor to evaluate their needs. They are then referred to a gym and a trainer.

  The program was working with sixty-seven people when we caught up with Amanda in early 2018. Besides those individuals, Project Momentum has also started kids’ programs with about a half dozen kids in each. Aimed at children with disabilities, these exercise programs are helping about seventy, all told.

  The people she’s helped have a range of disabilities. Probably because local media coverage has mentioned Amanda’s CP, that’s the most common affliction. But there’s also a seventy-year-old who’s recovering from a stroke, a person with autism, an amputee working out with a new limb—there are no real limits on what sort of disabilities qualify a person for aid.

  Amanda’s assistance is free. In many cases, the gym workouts are also free or provided at a reduced rate, thanks to the enthusiasm and generosity of the local gym owners. This is a big boost: typical gym costs can be relatively high, since one-on-one training is usually an additional cost beyond the gym membership fee. Thirty-minute sessions with a trainer a few times a week quickly add up. Even small charges can be difficult to shoulder for people with disabilities, whose finances as a general rule are even more stretched than most.

  Ultimately, Amanda knows she has to get full nonprofit status and build up Project Momentum to succeed in the long term. Given her track record, I have little doubt she’ll do just that.

  “I’ll keep on until they take my credit cards away,” she quips.

  Besides teaching, being a mom, and running her fledgling organization, Amanda works as a personal trainer and presents a professional conference about once a month. These conferences are aimed at spreading the word about what disabled people can do with their bodies if given the chance and motivation.

  Amanda’s story wouldn’t be complete without at least a nod to her husband, Rob, who has not only encouraged her but is a true partner in their marriage, actively involved in the give-and-take that all moms with busy schedules have to live by. He’s also a marathon runner—though so far he hasn’t won Amanda over to his particular sport.

  Then again, she hasn’t won him over to hers. Even when it comes to exercise, there are always boundaries in a successful relationship.

  For the most part, someone with a disability doesn’t struggle with life so they can act as a motivational guidepost for others. Amanda’s physical and intellectual achievements weren’t done so people without CP could say, If she can do it, so can I. Her goal was to make her life, and the lives of her kids, better.

  She’s achieved that. And that part of her story is inspiring, certainly, even if inspiration was an unintended by-product. But what is truly worth emulating is the idea behind her program, the notion that she should selflessly share what she learned with others. That’s what really good teachers do, and really good teachers are inspiring, because they instruct us and remind us of the American Spirit.

  Called to Be a Hero

  Mona Ratelle

  Not many of us can say we saved a life.

  Fewer still can claim to have done it by literally giving part of themselves to someone else.

  Mona Ratelle is one of them.

  You might not guess that this feisty, straight-shooting San Diego native is a hero, but in 1999, she gave up her kidney to a man she barely knew because . . . well, because it felt like the right thing to do.

  The year before, Mona and her husband met Mac and his wife at a Valentine’s Day party. The couples hit it off, exchanging stories about how they had met and become a couple. They had good cocktails and a pleasant time.

  By all rights, that should have been the end of the story—Mac and his wife went back to New York State where they lived, and Mona went on with her life.

  But a few months later, Mona got word that Mac was having serious health problems. His kidney was failing, and he needed dialysis.

  I’ll pray for him, said Mona.

  She did. And that might have been the end of the story as well.

  Weeks went by. She heard about him again. The dialysis wasn’t going well. Mac needed a kidney transplant. They were testing family and friends to look for a match.

  I’ll pray for him, said Mona again.

  She did. Nightly. And asked others to pray for him as well.

  Then more news: Mac was having trouble finding a donor match—someone whose blood and tissue type were close enough that Mac’s body would accept that new kidney, rather than attack it as
an invader.

  Even today, kidney transplants are relatively rare procedures; a few thousand are done each year. While that may sound like a lot, the waiting list is estimated to be more than one hundred thousand.

  At the time of Mac’s illness, designating your organs for donation upon death was not a widely discussed option, nor were the procedures as advanced as they are now. And getting kidneys from living patients—especially those who were not related to the patient—was far rarer than today. The procedure was long and not without risks beyond those normally associated with surgery. Still, having a live donor had and still has several advantages for the patient, the most obvious being availability—they don’t have to worry about long waiting lists.

  Mona prayed again. And kept praying.

  Then one day she went to her doctor for a routine checkup, and in the course of the checkup, she found out what her blood type was—something she’d never known. That night, she heard that Mac’s relatives had all turned up negative at the early stage of screening: they had the wrong blood type.

  When she asked about the blood type, she realized hers matched.

  Was God nudging her?

  She couldn’t escape the feeling that, yes, He was.

  Oh, she denied it at first, or tried to, asking others about their blood type. But the feeling inside her grew—Maybe I’m the one who’s supposed to do this.

  “That was all I could think of,” she confesses. “Here I’d been praying for someone else to step up, and I’d gotten a God wink.”